shutdown
by hurryup
Summary: Tyki was burning up, and burning through no fault of his own. (Tyki/Allen, smut and introspection. CW for choking/erotic asphyxiation.)


"When you trust me, you're tender," Tyki said, smirk in his voice. He handed Allen a cigarette, or rather surrendered it. Allen had been pushing to try this for a little while now, and Tyki had up until this point been unwilling to depart with his smokes for the sake of satisfying Allen's curiosity. Tonight, however, he deems to be in the mood to make concessions. "When you doubt me, well. You're downright dangerous."

Allen took the cigarette between his teeth, and Tyki's lighter came to life with a spark. He leaned forwards, slow and indulgent in his motions, to light Allen's fire. The smirk did not fade. In fact, it glowed all the brighter in that dim, matchstick light.

For a long moment, Allen held it there without doing anything. It smoldered between his lips patiently, and so he pursed his lips around it, letting the curve of his lips adapt to the coarse, papery texture of the filter.

"So, what'll it be tonight, boy? Tender or dangerous?"

"I'm... still making up my mind about that," Allen said, eyes flickering away. He filled the silence by taking a drag of the cigarette. The smoke came flooding in, the soft curl of it crowding around his teeth like a wraith. Like a ghost.

Allen waited for a moment. He wasn't entirely sure what he was waiting for— some kind of flood of sensation, maybe, or neurochemical reaction. Something, anything that might suggest the possibility of addiction. He was ultimately disappointed. It didn't feel like much of anything at all.

Allen opened his mouth, and the spirit was released. It slunk out of his mouth and rose up high, high into the air. It disappeared into the ceiling fan, into the green hotel wallpaper, out the four-paneled window.

Everywhere and nowhere.

"You're not doing it right," Tyki told him, his patience more self-indulgent than truly magnanimous. "You're just holding the smoke in your mouth. You need to take it all the way down into your lungs. Ah, but maybe you require a demonstration?"

He reached forwards with long, tapered fingers and plucked the cigarette from Allen's lips. Slowly, he drew it back towards his own. It was a beautiful exchange.

Tyki's eyes fluttered to half-mast. Cheeks hollowing just slightly as he took that first drag.

There was, actually, a difference in Tyki's method. Allen's eyes flickered away from Tyki's face, catching the movement of his diaphragm. The smoke seemed to enter his body with a long whistle of movement. It reached deep, deep into his lungs before he released it in one steady exhale— before he was exorcised.

A bitter turn of phrase.

Tyki took a second drag. It was overwhelming, really, the way Tyki kept his eyes on Allen as he did it. Allen would be hard-pressed to admit it out loud, but he loved Tyki's eyes, loved them as much as Tyki's body (long and lean) and his mind (a black diamond).

The trouble with Tyki was this: he had a way of making bad things look not so bad.

Not bad at all.

"See what I mean," Tyki continued. His expression was a strange one indeed; there was a surprised sort of contentment here, undercut by that patented look of smug satisfaction. "Straight down into your lungs, boy."

He handed the cigarette back to Allen. Their fingers brushed, just a little bit, but enough for Allen to feel conscious of it. Allen held it and didn't do anything. It was burning silently between his fingertips, and Allen was burning up, too. Smoke in his eyes. In his hair. A scent that made him sick. Sick, furious, and deeply, deeply homesick.

Perhaps the day would soon come a time where Allen would smell the smoke and think Tyki Mikk before Cross Marian. And then, just maybe, sometime later, Allen would be able to take in the savor and the scent and think of no one, of nothing, only himself.

What would Cross think, Allen wondered, if he could see him now? Disappointed? More likely he'd just roll his eyes, shake his head, and redirect his attention a bottle of wine.

That was an annoying thought, somehow. It made him want to keep going, to try again. He lifted the cigarette back up, midway to his lips.

Then, he stopped himself. Ludicrously, he wondered if he would feel the impression of Tyki's lips there, the— the damp or the ghost or the spirit of them. A hot wave of nerves lanced through him. What had once felt like an exchange was now beginning to feel more like a communion.

Suddenly, the entire idea of breathing smoke into his lungs struck him as horrible counter-intuitive, like trying to breathe underwater.

"Would you prefer that I trust you?" Needing something to do with his hands, Allen rubbed at the filter with his thumb.

Tyki's pupils may have dilated. Just a little.

"Maybe," he said, voice careful and slow. "But I would never ask that of you."

Allen bowed his head, feigning interest in the ratty carpeting beneath his feet.

"I suppose that's your way of being kind."

"Kind? If you think I'm a kind man, boy, you've got me all wrong. I just want to keep things fair. That's all."

Allen rolled his eyes. He was almost tempted to laugh. Almost.

"You're so full of shit."

The next time he lifted his head, he did not run from Tyki. He looked straight into those golden eyes, as gentle and unearthly as the moon, and slotted the cigarette back between his lips.

This time, he took a deep, deep breath that whistled all the way through his body. Letting the evil in.

The technique made all the difference. The smoke came rushing down, a complete overwhelming of his system, hot and ashy and rough. On contact, his lungs itched. Allen coughed the smoke back out, and it puffed out into the air. He bent over at the waist, hacking it out.

At this, Tyki seemed insufferably amused. This was the amusement of cats and snakes and all other vaguely contemptuous predators. The kind Allen sort of wanted to punch off his face.

"Alright, alright. I think you've had enough for one night."

Allen leaned up to glare at Tyki, though his throat was still a little too raw to speak. The last thing he needed was to have Tyki treating him like a child now. At the sight, Tyki actually laughed out loud.

"Come, now. No need to get so worked up."

"Hard to avoid, when you refuse to take any of this seriously," Allen said. Recovering, he held himself up straight. Tyki took his cigarette back, walking across the room to stub it into an ashtray. "You know, I wouldn't have reason to doubt you if you weren't such a coward."

"Ah, I see we're feeling dangerous tonight. A shame, really." Tyki let out a low hum. Allen tracked him across the room with his eyes, first with his eyes, and then with his body. Tyki heard him follow, and sighed as if chastising a wayward pupil. "Listen, boy..."

"My name is _Allen_ ," Allen went on, biting the words out in his frustration. He reached out to touch Tyki's back, gentle fingers on his shoulder. "God, you're really, really _stupid_ sometimes, you know that?"

Tyki stalled. His broad back was unexpectedly tense.

"I care about you," Allen said, more softly this time, saying it because he couldn't bear having not said it. "I care about you, and you know it, and that's all there is. So can we just skip the games?"

Allen could feel the shiver of Tyki's laughter through his skin.

"Some _terrible_ taste on your part, really."

"I know," Allen nearly laughed back. Instead, he close his eyes. "I know. But I can't help it, alright?"

I can't help it, and you're no better.

His eyes were shocked back open by the sensation of Tyki's lips on his.

For a moment, Allen's mind went perfectly blank. One of Tyki's hands had lowered and settled against the small of Allen's back, and the other was in Allen's hair, yanking him up as he overwhelmed Allen's entire body with the insistent heat of this rough, demanding kiss. Tyki's lips crushing his, tongue against his; hot, wet, and filthy. _Gorgeous_.

This wasn't the first time they'd kissed, and by the feel of it, it wouldn't be the last.

Allen whimpered against Tyki's mouth, and the unexpected noise was like an electric shock straight to his system. He suddenly found himself hyper-alert. Aware of the way Tyki's clothes were sliding against his, the way his hands moved over Allen's body with such casual possessiveness, the sounds of their uneven breathing in an otherwise silent room.

"No fair," Allen gasped, breaking the kiss only once he could no longer breathe. Tyki pressed back in intently, expression unreadable.

"Mm, hard to avoid," Tyki's voice reached something between a hot whisper and a purr. Cheeky, yes, as Tyki liked to be, also needy. Needy and desperate and a thousand more honest things Tyki had fooled himself into believing he was not. His hands came sliding up under Allen's shirt, pushing it up as he went until he grazed over Allen's nipple with one hand. He reached out to tweak one, and Allen let out a moan, half-surprised, half-aroused. "Look at you. You're an angel."

Allen flushed, and Tyki took advantage of his silence to undress him. It felt good, having his skin exposed to the open air, and even better to have it exposed to Tyki's appreciative stare.

"My pretty, dirty angel," Tyki went on, now murmuring. He peeled Allen's shirt away from his shoulders and cast it aside. Then, looping one arm about Allen's waist, he drew the two of them close together. There was something shockingly good about the sensation of Allen's flushed, bare skin rutting against the crisp texture of Tyki's shirt. "With all your pretty words. Such a _temptation_."

"I meant what I said," Allen breathed. His body was responding with feverish want to Tyki's every touch, and he found himself grinding up against Tyki, half-hard already. I may not trust you, but I sure as hell can't bring myself to stay away from you. "I lo— I care for you."

"I'm sure you do," Tyki smiled. An odd smile, really. Almost pitying. The hand on Allen's shoulder made its way down his body, curling around to palm over the taut curve of Allen's ass. Absolutely shameless. "And that's just the problem, isn't it?"

Tyki's mouth wandered to the column of Allen's neck, and he dragged his teeth up from the base of Allen's shoulder until he reached the edge of Allen's jaw; there, he bit down. Allen let out a shaky sound of want, and Tyki kissed and sucked at the center of the bite, almost like an apology.

"Tyki—"

"I want to kiss you again, angel," Tyki said. "Would you like that? Would you let me?"

Allen nodded tightly, and Tyki made good on his word, fisting his hand into Allen's hair and all but dragging him into a filthy kiss that made Allen feel nothing short of debauched.

Tyki tasted like cigarettes and cider and sin without redemption.

He could feel Tyki getting reflexively hard, responding to Allen's rutting with short thrusts of his own, groping at Allen's ass, biting and demanding and controlling the kiss.

"On the bed," Tyki said, low, hands at the seam of Allen's pants, guiding the zipper down. Allen complied, shedding his socks, shoes, and pants as he went, following Tyki's subtly commanding touch to lie on his back. Tyki was on him just as quickly, leaning over Allen to box him in with his arms.

There was something sort of obscene about being practically naked while Tyki was still fully clothed, but Allen sort of liked it. He liked the way Tyki's weight pressed down on him too, liked the idea that he was surrounded by Tyki, by his strength. They were touching, touching everywhere they could, bodies aligned up against each other, and that in itself was so beautifully intimate that Allen could momentarily forget what a coward Tyki was when it came to love.

The kiss went on, Allen panting into Tyki's open mouth, thrusting up in earnest now. The friction of Allen's cock against Tyki's was shockingly good, even through the layers of clothing, and Allen could feel himself becoming fully hard, a damp patch of precome staining his underwear. Tyki moaned, low and soft and sensual, too much, too perfect.

Absolute fool. Allen spread his legs beneath Tyki. Enthusiastic, Tyki pressed down against him hard, caging Allen in, letting him know there could be no escaping him. I can't stand how much I love you.

Suddenly, Tyki leaned back up, staying his hips and withdrawing from the kiss. Allen whined, arching back up to chase him. Just as soon, Tyki's fingertips reached around Allen's neck, just over the collar. He brought his hand down hard, pinning Allen back down against the bed by his throat, stealing the air from his lungs, holy fuck.

"You like that?"

Allen fought to turn his head away, wanting to escape Tyki's hungry's eyes.

"Keep going," he said, throat already so raw. Tyki's hand was so much, almost too much, so much more than choking on smoke. "Please, please, _please_."

Tyki leaned down, bearing down against Allen until he was in desperate need of air. He was careful, always careful, occaisonally pausing to ease his grip for seconds at a time so that Allen could catch his breath. It was a sick sensation. Terrifying and maddening and so painful that Allen's ears were ringing.

It felt a lot like being in love.

Right then, dizzy and hot and half-lucid, Allen thought back to the drag of the cigarette. He thought that now, feeling this, he could finally understand the addiction. The way you could come to crave or even need that familiar lungful of fire.

Fading in and out, he could only focus on one sensation at a time. His attention slid from the ebb and flow of his breath, his blood, the tough nails of his Innocence hand rasping against the sheets. As he was rocked on the edge of unconsciousness, his attention wandered to the throbbing between his legs, the keen heat of arousal in his belly.

Almost as an afterthought he focused on the way Tyki's knee was rutting up between his legs, and he suddenly realized that he was coming. He cried out voicelessly, his cock spasming hard, his ass clenching with each spurt as he came inside his boxers. That was when Tyki released his throat, reaching down his pants and pulling his cock out to jerk himself off to completion, coming over Allen's chest, his thighs, the bed. Allen lay back, riding out his orgasm, doing nothing, accepting everything.

The silence that followed was a sweet relief. Allen closed his eyes almost immediately after his orgasm, shocked still, panting in air like a man drowned.

It took him about a minute to return to Tyki. When he opened his eyes again, Tyki was still above him, his dark skin and hair damp with sweat. There was a look of mute surprise on his face. He seemed taken aback by his own savagery.

He cleared his throat. He reached out, a little awkwardly, to touch Allen's face with with gentle fingers. "You still with me, boy?"

Allen nodded wordlessly. He cupped his own hand over Tyki's. He held it there. It was warm. Tyki felt human.

"I've changed my mind. You're not an angel at all. You're a demon. You're a monster."

The look in his eyes gave everything away.

Soft with pity, Allen nodded again. Tyki rolled over, collapsing at the side of the bed, and Allen tucked into him instinctively, placing his head on Tyki's chest.

 _It's alright,_ he wanted to tell Tyki. _You're alright, and so am I._

The words caught at the back of his throat, faltered, died.

Tyki had silenced his salvation.

Allen drifted off to sleep, coming to once every so often. At some point, Tyki undressed and cleaned the both of them, an act that seemed both incredibly tender in nature and somewhat penitent.

It was kindness enough, Allen thought, that Tyki would even stay with him the night.

Tyki woke up only once during the night; a disturbance Allen felt but did not see.

Although Tyki did a commendable job of muting his own gasps of pain, Allen had heard them anyways, feeling the minute tremble of Tyki's body writhing in divine pain.

His scars were burning him down right to the bone.

God's punishment.

It hurt Allen to lie there and pretend not to notice. He kept his face turned against the pillow and feigned sleep, heart sinking down under their bed as Tyki spasmed periodically, breathing ragged. He would not accept Allen's comfort. He would not accept Allen's reassurances. He would push away Allen's soft, soothing hands; not now, not for this. This pain was an intimate one, one Allen could never intrude upon, one that marked Tyki as powerfully and as damningly as the stigmata. Proof of his damnation.

He would suffer alone.

Allen shut his eyes very tight, blocking out the moonlight and the sound of sheets and the scent of sweat.

Tomorrow, Tyki would tell Allen there was nothing that could be done for him, that there was only one reliable cure for corruptions of the soul: an honest death, one he was not yet ready for. And Allen would scorn Tyki, and mistrust him, and even sometimes fear him, but he still would not give up on him.

Because Allen was kind of stupid, too. 

_When you doubt me, you are a danger,_ Allen thought _. A danger to yourself._

Tyki was burning up, and burning through no fault of his own. The mark on Allen's throat, the brand of a handprint, burned in response. 

That night, he dreamt of ashes.


End file.
